Day 318: Again

20:08. I am on the bus down to work. I did this twelve hours ago. I already did this.

I forced myself out from under ensconcing sheets. I trussed myself up in clothes and gloves and coat and ventured out into the snow. I waited in the biting wind for a bus, driven by a slouching faced grump, sat on the top deck shivering with the windows misted up and rivulets of melted boot-snow pooling around my feet.

I got in to an office dripping water through its ceiling vent, which, when I lifted the ceiling panel by the vent, disgorged streams of yellow water down the wall and my arm and over my head. Above the office is the men's toilets. In the men's toilets was a blocked urinal. The urinal was streaming down onto my head.

I turned the water off to the urinals. Put buckets down. Mopped. Waited for the plumbers. I dealt with delivery drivers ringing because they couldn't find the pub. Chefs who couldn't print count sheets. Chefs who couldn't log on to laptops. Chefs who couldn't work an Excel formula. I showed an engineer what had broken in the cellar. Talked to reps. Took messages. Proof-read menus for the area manager. Put away deliveries. Cleaned lines. Sorted social media. I worked a day. I did my day's work.

As I was leaving at 17:00 Steve came in for a pint, and I sat with him at the end of the bar, chewed the fat, shot the shit. I made fun of Zoe. Laughed with Pat. Watched Lydia excavate a furry phone headset from her archeological dig under the shelf below the bar handwash sink. I chatted with Jordan when he came in, had two sips of an end-of-line Chimay Gold.

Finally I found the energy to push myself up from my bar stool, collect my bag and coat, lurch out wearily into the night. I humped my aching frame to the bus stop, stood in the biting wind, got on the bus, sat on the top deck with the windows misted up, rainwater pooling around my feet, and I felt my eyes unfocus and my mind slide into that great shimmering lake stretching below consciousness.

I did this. And I shook myself awake in time to leap from my seat and fly down the stairs and make my stop. I humped my aching frame to my front door, into a house drowning in gloom, got up the stairs, got lights on, got heating on, got into my room where all was bright and light and calm.

I flicked the power button on my PC. Kicked off my shoes. Collapsed into my office chair.

With the bending of my waist something sharp pressed into my thigh.

I reached into the front-left pocket on my jeans. Pulled out something long and shining.

In my hand was the safe key. The pub's one safe key. The safe key Pat needed to float the tills. To cash up the tills. To close the pub.

I sighed, pulled on my boots, hefted myself back up and out into the night.